


In The Garden

by kraken_creature



Series: Ineffably Ever After [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Aziraphale can sense love, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley can sense lust, Establishing consent, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 03:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20520947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kraken_creature/pseuds/kraken_creature
Summary: "It started in the garden.No, not that garden. This garden came much later.Having swapped back into their own bodies, Crowley invited Aziraphale to lunch and he, with frustrating good humour about it, smiled and said that Crowley had succeeded in tempting him. And that was it. Crowley felt the familiar itch start in his hands, wanting to touch Aziraphale, wanting to hold him."Crowley spends an awkward time at the Ritz pining and lusting over Aziraphale, completely unable to articulate his feelings until he's compelled to make the first move.





	In The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: Crowley's behaviour toward Aziraphale is a little rough at one particular point, but I've chosen not to put up a warning because it's no rougher than when they visit the convent in the TV show. (Yes, THAT BIT. It happens again. You're welcome.)
> 
> This could follow on from my stories "In One Night" and "The Ground Rules" but doesn't have to. All my Ineffably Ever After pieces make sense together but can stand alone, and this follows on at the end of the TV series.

It started in the garden.

No, not _that_ garden. This garden came much later.

Having swapped back into their own bodies, Crowley invited Aziraphale to lunch and he, with frustrating good humour about it, smiled and said that Crowley had succeeded in tempting him. And that was it. Crowley felt the familiar itch start in his hands, wanting to touch Aziraphale, wanting to hold him.

They stood immediately and made to leave Berkley Square for the short walk to the Ritz. Crowley slid his fingers into his pockets and rested his palms on his hips. It was a well-practiced action, closing in on himself, not allowing his discomfort to show. Aziraphale was relaxed and didn’t mind the silence as they walked, but Crowley moved with the false-ease of a tightrope walker. His body ached to be nearer but he would not allow himself close the distance between them.

What Crowley felt was not a temptation to reach out to the angel. Temptations are tricky things; he should know. Let’s say that what he felt was more akin to a craving, one that had gnawed at him from within for more than six thousand years.

He had grown accustomed to his cravings: the one to touch, the one to hold, the one to caress, the one to possess. He had known these cravings for so long that they were practically friends. He had indulged them in his fantasies and, although he could lie and say that this had been enough for him, it simply wasn’t any more. Not now that he had acknowledged his love for Aziraphale. Not now that he had had Aziraphale. For one night they had been together, finding comfort in each other after the apocalypse was averted. _Fine, lovely, the world is saved but we might die because of it, so why not?_ Aziraphale had said that he loved him too, but now Crowley was filled with doubts.

_What now? What now that we’re still alive? What now that we’re free? What now that I’ve tasted you?_

He took in large, unnecessary breaths. They didn’t calm him.

Crowley followed mutely as Aziraphale tripped into the Ritz and they were shown to their table. He sprawled in his seat and stared off into the distance. He didn’t dare look at Aziraphale directly. He tried not to think of his candyfloss hair, his ridiculous outdated clothes, his manicured hands and that sweet, delicious smile. _Fuck_.

The angel ordered food and drinks with enthusiasm; Crowley acted indifferent and tried to calm himself. He listened to Aziraphale’s soft voice, the quiet clink of cutlery on china and the murmur of polite conversation on other tables. It felt meditative. He could not go too fast here; the Ritz was their place, a sacred space to Aziraphale, and he would not disturb its rituals. He felt his thoughts slow to the pace of his surroundings. The distance between himself and Aziraphale across the table and its crisp, perfect linens was good, it was less overwhelming. By the time that the food arrived and the champagne was served, Crowley barely felt unhinged at all.

Finally Aziraphale spoke to him again, a tender smile spreading on his warm features: “I like to think that none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, just a little bit a good person.”

Crowley turned into the voice and considered it. He would have acted defensively only a few days ago if he had been called good, but Aziraphale meant it as a compliment. He couldn’t deny his nature to Aziraphale, and who else was keeping score anymore?

“And if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing,” he replied. Aziraphale looked away coyly, smiled, and glanced back at Crowley. What Crowley wouldn’t do for those smiles. He felt a flutter inside himself again and turned to pick up his champagne glass. “Cheers… To the world.”

“To the world,” Aziraphale replied with the greatest fondness, meeting Crowley’s glass with a soft _ding_ before taking a sip.

Aziraphale set down his glass carefully and leaned in toward Crowley, who tensed imperceptibly at the proximity. “Do you know, my dear, that they set up an _audience_ down there for the execution? There was a viewing window and _quite_ the crowd.” He sounded more amused than upset by it all. He was giddy.

“Weeell, there isn’t much entertainment down there,” Crowley replied without turning.

“Perhaps not, but how morbid! Still, it means that so many more of them got the message. They shan’t bother you for a while now.” Aziraphale smirked. Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley could see where Aziraphale had rested his hand on the table. He fought the instinct to place his own hand on top of it, to bask on the warmth of his skin. Aziraphale continued sweetly, “Oh, but you should have seen the looks on their faces, dear boy. It was a treat!”

“Yeah, must have been. They were expecting _me soup_.”

Aziraphale laughed. Aziraphale’s laughter had recently been demoted to the second most gratifying sound Crowley knew. He adjusted his slouch; this level of nonchalance didn’t come easily.

Aziraphale said, “And you simply must tell me what happened upstairs.”

“Not much to say.” Crowley thought briefly about the distain that the other angels had shown for Aziraphale and swallowed down his rage. They had not simply wanted to punish Aziraphale for breaking their rules and averting the war, but they actually didn’t like him and possibly never had. Crowley told himself, as he had when faced with their hatred of Aziraphale, that their opinions shouldn’t matter anymore. It was all the more reason to do right by him now that the two of them really were alone together. Crowley changed the subject as neatly as he could: “Anyway, you should have something to eat. No point in coming out for lunch otherwise.”

Aziraphale smiled and accepted the suggestion gladly. He filled his plate with some of the treats that had been brought to them, occasionally offering a piece to Crowley, who declined.

Crowley drank and watched as Aziraphale enjoyed the food, at first observing out of the corner of his eye and then, slowly, shifting in his seat to face the angel and lean across the table, like a flower following the sun. He soaked in every contented moan to pass from the angel’s lips, every flutter of the eyelashes as he savoured the tastes. Aziraphale ate slowly, measuring out every morsel into its own discreet experience. He was a hedonist, and it was one of the (many) things that Crowley loved about him, but the delighted moans and whispered _oh, goodness!_ were downright unsettling to anyone with more than a casual interest in Aziraphale’s enjoyment.

Crowley prickled all over with the urgent need for those sweet sighs that Aziraphale made. He had enjoyed their warmth before, but not like this, not knowing with certainty that Aziraphale could be made to come undone by more than food. He gulped his champagne and refilled the glass, topping off Aziraphale’s with the last drops of the bottle. He gestured to the waiter to bring more.

“Are you sure you won’t try a bite of this cake?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing with his fork to the plate before him. “It’s divine!”

“Ngk.”

“Apologies. ‘Divine’ is a poorly chosen word,” Aziraphale said, completely, thankfully, missing the cause of Crowley’s inarticulate responses.

Crowley cleared his throat. “You finish it, angel. You’re enjoying it sssso much.” He hated the telling hiss in his voice. He had never learnt to keep the snake out of his discomfort. He tilted his head to the side and looked at Aziraphale, who beamed at him affectionately and then turned back toward the cake. If he had heard the creak in Crowley’s voice, the long s’s of his agitation, then he showed no sign of it.

Perhaps Aziraphale was being polite. Aziraphale was always polite. At that moment, Crowley hated him for it.

Crowley took a deep breath, trying to be calm. He focused on remaining still as his nerves danced. Stillness is fine for a snake, who can rest for long times <strike>before they strike</strike>, so stillness was fine for him too. Being still is not the same as being calm, however, and his mind raced.

_You haven’t kissed me since this morning. You haven’t held my hand. You haven’t mentioned what we said, what we did, whether we can do it all again or whether you would rather forget the whole glorious, messy thing. And I won’t- I can’t ever forget it._

He took another long draw on his champagne and filled up the glass from the new bottle. It was starting to feel less and less like a celebration to him, being trapped alongside, and yet so distant, from the one thing that he wanted most. The long march through eternity had been made bearable with Aziraphale as his friend, and perhaps, with enough time, he could convince himself again that that was enough. But not this day.

Aziraphale was celebrating with his usual gusto. He was thrilled by their freedom and the survival of the world they both loved so well.

_Why bloody well bother if I can’t have you?_ Crowley wanted to scream.

All of the endearments spoken in the previous night now seemed distant and unreal. No promises had been made. How can anyone make offers like _more_, _again_ or- worst of all- _forever_ when _Tuesday_ seems unrealistic?

Crowley realised that he would have to say something. As he opened his mouth to speak, Aziraphale looked up at him, his eyes sparkling as he dabbed his lips with his napkin. Crowley spluttered weakly, “What now then? You know, with us?”

“Mm. I have given that some thought.”

Crowley felt a tug in his stomach. Optimism? Lust? Both? He lifted his eyebrows questioningly, not daring to speak.

“Well I should say that we’re retired. We can do as we like!”

“That’sss not what I meant,” Crowley managed. He was starting to feel like his skin was too tight. The tense, itching feeling of wanting to touch and wanting permission to touch was almost too much. He felt convinced that the whole restaurant- the whole of London- could see him vibrate as he tried to not simply grab Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kiss him, pin him to the table and...

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped. “Of course. We should get along and carry on the celebrations, perhaps at yours? There’s wine, of course, and I think I spied more champagne in your cupboard.”

Crowley closed his eyes behind his dark glasses and took in a slow, shuddering breath.

_I fell in love with an idiot. Heaven’s greatest idiot._

“Let’sss go then.”

Aziraphale paid, leaving a substantial tip, and led the way back through the tables. “Are you quite alright?” he asked as they stepped out onto the street. “You seem a tad worked up.”

“Noticed that, eh?” Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets as best he could and glowered at Aziraphale.

“Not to worry. We’ll be home in a jiffy,” Aziraphale said breezily. He turned and started to walk away, his hands clasped behind his back. “I know a shortcut. This way.”

Crowley fell into step beside him without looking where they went. Aziraphale led them round several corners and into an empty alley before he stopped and glanced around.

“Angel, are you lost or-” Crowley’s complaint was cut off by a small lurch. He blinked. They were now in the corridor outside his apartment, the sounds of London and the unbearably cheerful sunlight safely locked outside. He shrugged and turned to open the door. “Interesting shortcut.”

Crowley didn’t really mind. It was reassuring to be back in the privacy of his own place, even if it meant being alone with his uncertainties and Aziraphale. He walked into his flat and down the corridor, confident that the angel would follow, and sure enough he heard the front door close and Aziraphale’s soft steps behind him. He turned in to the indoor garden and began to stalk through to the kitchen.

“Yes, I am sorry about the unannounced miracle, my dear,” Aziraphale said from behind him. “But, you see… well I have a question to ask you and I’m rather afraid that it can’t wait any longer.”

Crowley stopped and turned to face Aziraphale again. He quirked an eyebrow questioningly and stretched his fingers, clenching and unclenching his hands. He needed a stiff drink and knew exactly where to find several, but he also couldn’t deny Aziraphale anything now.

The angel frowned and clasped his hands together. Crowley was pinned by his bright, nervous eyes, and an electric chill ran through him to the tips of his wings in the next realm.

“Will you kiss me again?”

Aziraphale’s back hit the grey wall. Crowley had closed the distance between them and grasped him by his coat in great, shaking handfuls, forcing him roughly back. Crowley’s expression was suddenly fierce, every sharp line of his body rigid and tense. The tall plants on either side of them shivered, but Aziraphale didn’t show any surprise or fear. Crowley stared at his guileless face, mere inches away. Only Aziraphale could make him so frustrated, so undone, and only Aziraphale would face it serenely.

Crowley took in a heaving breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. Aziraphale waited, feeling the warmth of his breath and the slightest brush of their noses touching. He spoke at last through gritted teeth, “You act all afternoon like there’s nothing between us and now this! For- for _my_ sssake, Aziraphale, just tell me what you want.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I want you.”

Crowley moved immediately to kiss him. He let out a choked whimper as Aziraphale kissed back and deepened the kiss. He slid closer, pressing their bodies together and still not daring to let go of Aziraphale’s coat. Slowly, cautiously, Aziraphale brought one hand up to the back of Crowley’s head. He moved with care, trying not to startle Crowley, and was rewarded with a raw groan as he ran his fingers into his hair.

As they kissed, Crowley moved his hands from Aziraphale’s lapels to the buttons of his waistcoat. Fumbling without looking, he undid them and had started to untuck the shirt before faltering. He leaned back only slightly, reluctant to break the physical connection between them, his hands bundled in the hem of Aziraphale’s shirt, knuckles brushing his warm stomach.

“Say it again.” It was not a request, but Crowley spoke as gently as he was able.

Aziraphale carefully reached up and grasped the sides of Crowley’s glasses. He waited until there was the slightest of nods in consent before sliding them from Crowley’s face. He folded the glasses and slid them into Crowley’s own jacket pocket, then looked into Crowley’s golden eyes as he said, “I want you.”

Crowley shuddered, excitement and fear blending. “Just sssex?”

“No.” Aziraphale shook his head. “So much more than that, my dear … But I would _rather like_ to make love now.”

Crowley leapt forward once more, gracelessly consuming Aziraphale’s lips and forcing his head back against the wall with a slight thump. He pulled back instantly, his hands shooting up to clutch either side of Aziraphale’s head as his eyes scanned for signs of pain on the angel’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Aziraphale gasped, pressing forward to kiss Crowley again. “You can do it again.”

“Nnn?” Disbelief bloomed in Crowley’s chest.

“I’m not so fragile as all that, Crowley.”

Crowley didn’t move. He finally had what he wanted literally in his grasp and realised with horror that he didn’t know what to do next. Six thousand years of private fantasies had not prepared him for _wantonness _and he was overwhelmed by it.

Aziraphale scrutinised his conflicted expression as well as he could in the confined space between them; it was clear that this had all become too much for Crowley to process, and he was adrift.

“Oh, come here, dear boy,” Aziraphale hummed. He took Crowley’s hands from his face and placed them firmly on his hips, then wrapped his arms around Crowley and pulled him in. He nuzzled into Crowley’s neck and began to kiss there, working along his jaw and towards his ear, running his fingers once more into the russet hair.

A choked sound emerged between them. Crowley realised after a moment that he had produced the noise, and that in order to even moan- let alone properly vocalise his enjoyment and appreciation- he would have to start to breath again. He inhaled slowly, a lungful of Aziraphale; the subtle scents of old books, cedarwood, and cologne clung to him, but the base tone underneath it all was sunlight. It had always made Crowley want to soak it in. It reminded him of warm days, and one in particular atop a wall. It was a familiar, grounding smell, even as everything else seemed so new and strange, and he gradually felt himself become aware of his body again. Aziraphale was here, cornered between his growing erection and the wall, hands pulling gently on Crowley’s hair to move his head to one side as he bit his earlobe softly.

Fumbling hands slid under Aziraphale’s shirt, over his stomach and around his hips, gripping him and pinning him again against the wall. Crowley dug his fingers in gently, feeling the fullness, the muscle beneath and the resistance as Aziraphale bucked against him, pressing their efforts together through the material of their trousers.

“Welcome back,” Aziraphale whispered. “I though I lost you there for a moment.”

“Nah. You’re stuck with me now… if you want.” Crowley had meant to sound confident but his nerves betrayed him at the last.

“Always,” Aziraphale purred against his jaw. “I love you and I want this.” Aziraphale had meant _this_ to encapsulate their entire situation, but his hips pushed forward at that moment and Crowley closed his eyes, savouring the friction. He pushed Aziraphale back again and slid his hips to the side, pushing one leg between Aziraphale’s and grinding his own hips forward. He was met with a low moan, “Mmmm- more.”

Crowley was as reluctant as Aziraphale to let go and, thankfully, removing their clothes without creating unwanted space between them proved to be of no difficulty. He took one hand away from Aziraphale and clicked his fingers, then resumed his grip and slithered his now-naked body more fully against the equally naked expanse of Aziraphale.

“My clothes!” Aziraphale gasped, for the moment more concerned about where they had gone than about his own situation.

“Safely hung up in the bedroom,” Crowley promised as he ran his hands up the angel’s sides and down to his thighs.

Reassured and once again lost in sensation, Aziraphale’s attention returned fully to Crowley. He punctuated his words with kisses and small nibbles along Crowley’s shoulder as he said, “Mmm. Jolly good then.” He cupped Crowley’s arse with one hand and urged him forward, shifting his own legs apart and steering Crowley between them.

Crowley’s hands gripped Aziraphale’s thighs and hoisted him up, his back sliding along the wall until he straddled Crowley. Aziraphale automatically cast his arms around Crowley’s neck, his legs around Crowley’s slender frame. He rolled his hips, pressing their cocks together between their stomachs.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale gasped. “Can you hold me?”

“S’fine,” Crowley replied, leaning in to kiss him greedily. The wall took some of Aziraphale’s weight and much of the rest was borne by Crowley’s hips and arms; a lot can be said for the strength of an appropriately motivated demon.

As they kissed, their tongues sliding hotly against each other, Crowley slid one hand along Aziraphale’s thigh, around the curve of his backside and between his cheeks, edging toward his tight hole. As his fingers brushed against it, Aziraphale rolled his hips down. Aziraphale waved one hand behind Crowley’s back, the gesture creating a discreet miracle to slick Crowley’s fingers and prepare himself for what he really wanted.

Crowley chuckled against Aziraphale’s lips, but was again relieved to find that they both wanted the same thing so badly. He slid one finger into Aziraphale easily and crooked it, seeking out the same nerve bundle and the same blissful noises that he had found in him the night before. Aziraphale’s grip on him tightened, grasping his shoulders with strong fingers as Crowley rubbed frustratingly slowly into him.

“More,” Aziraphale breathed between long kisses.

Crowley slid a second finger into him and sped up his movements, then managed to add a third finger in spite of the difficult angle. He would give Aziraphale anything in this moment.

As the pressure began to mount, Aziraphale’s movements became desperate. He dug his nails into Crowley’s back and scratched deeply, eliciting a groan and a deeper push of his hand. Aziraphale’s legs shook and he bit into Crowley’s shoulder, moaning into it.

“Do you want more, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded against him.

“Do you want me?”

He nodded more determinedly. “On the floor?”

“On the floor,” Crowley agreed. He slid his fingers out slowly and gripped Aziraphale’s legs again. He lowered Aziraphale gradually, supporting him even as he stood again. He scanned Aziraphale’s flushed face. “Y’ok?”

“Yes. Don’t make me wait.”

Crowley snorted. “We’re done waiting.” He took one of Aziraphale’s hands in his and stepped back several paces, creating enough space for them to help each other to the floor. He lay on his back and supported Aziraphale as he knelt over him on shaking legs, taking hold of his hips less harshly now.

Aziraphale leaned forward, planting one hand beside Crowley’s head and kissing him deeply. He ran his other hand down Crowley’s chest and grasped his length, stroking it firmly as he positioned himself over it. Crowley held himself still. He stroked Aziraphale’s hips with his long fingers and moaned as he felt Aziraphale’s hand grow slick around him with more miraculous lubrication.

As the head of Crowley’s cock was pressed against Aziraphale, the kisses stilled. They each were focused on the intense new feeling between them. Aziraphale’s brows knitted together in concentration and he began to lower himself slowly, each small movement seeming impossibly full, impossibly _right_.

Crowley took in Aziraphale’s intense expression, the tension in his legs, the tremor in his arm holding his weight up. He knew that this was a soldier above him, one of the strongest beings in the universe, created for endurance and love, but what rolled off Aziraphale in heady waves was lust. It had been building since they got home, and it crashed into Crowley now, as much a tangible thing to him as his love was to Aziraphale.

And he did love Aziraphale. He had known it for decades, but seeing him like this- wild and determined- uncorked something inside him. All of the love that he had held back, all of the ways that he had admired Aziraphale and tried to settle for being a good friend, washed out of him and crashed into Aziraphale.

Their eyes met.

“I can _feel_ you,” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley nodded. He understood that Aziraphale wasn’t referring to their bodies any more. He swallowed and spoke hoarsely, “You’re beautiful.”

Aziraphale’s hands came to rest on Crowley’s chest. His eyes fluttered shut as he lowered himself the last, short distance and sheathed Crowley inside himself. For a moment he was still as he adjusted to the fullness and the feeling of love. Crowley stroked his legs and his chest, and hissed as Aziraphale began to move, falteringly at first, rocking his hips.

Each time Aziraphale settled back onto Crowley, his expression danced. Each time he pulled forward, he pushed himself back a little more confidently, a little quicker. A steady pace developed between them and Crowley began to push up to meet Aziraphale, soaking in all of the gasps and moans that he had longed for earlier.

Crowley wrapped one hand around Aziraphale’s member and began to stroke in turn with their thrusts. The angel cried out a shuddering, halting moan and quickened his pace.

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s orgasm building before he knew what it was. The pressure of lust redoubled and, drunk on it, he felt his own orgasm near.

“Crowley, I-”

“Yesss,” he hissed, pushing his hips up more firmly. “That’sss it.”

Aziraphale came loudly, painting Crowley’s stomach hotly. The clenching and twitching around his cock threw Crowley over the edge and he pulsed raggedly inside Aziraphale, who collapsed over him.

They lay on the floor together for some time, Aziraphale resting his weight on Crowley’s chest, enfolded in Crowley’s arms. The light from the window had shifted before either of them began to take much notice of their surroundings again.

Aziraphale pressed one last, long kiss to Crowley’s cheek, then began to extricate himself from the knot of their limbs. He gasped quietly as he felt Crowley slip from his body, then rolled onto his side on the floor, resting into Crowley’s shoulder. He waved an arm lazily over them and the mess was gone. Crowley made an appreciative noise and clicked his fingers, creating a large blanket over their bodies.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s head where it rested on his own arm. He felt calmer than he had all day, but the feeling of lust that had bolstered him so much was fading to a background noise. He tried hazily to hold onto the confidence that he had felt when they were joined, but it was already slipping away from him.

Crowley knew that love and lust were different commodities. They can go together (and apparently just had done) but clinging to Aziraphale’s lust wasn’t going to be enough to convince him that he deserved the angel’s love too, or that any of it would last.

He wondered if it was easier for Aziraphale- angels are built for love, demons are meant to know only its loss. Perhaps without the reassuring feeling of love that Aziraphale could tap into, he would always be the nervous one. Crowley knew in his core that he would doubt the realness of their love again, and again, and again.

_He said that we weren’t friends and I didn’t believe him. Why can’t I believe him now when he says he loves me?_

Crowley stilled his thoughts and focused on what was around him, grounding him. _I can smell Aziraphale, plants, sweat, come. I can still taste Aziraphale a little. He’s warm against me, and heavy on my arm, and his feet are a little cold._

Crowley shifted his legs to push the blanket further down on themselves, covering Aziraphale’s feet.

“Mmm. Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said dreamily.

Crowley realised then that he could do something about his doubts. What he wanted was within his reach. He nudged Aziraphale’s head with his nose. “Tell me again.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Silly serpent. I want you.”

“Just in private though? Just like this?”

“No,” Aziraphale said softly. “Forever, my dear, and everywhere. I shan’t let you go now. I love you.”

Crowley’s brow creased with the release of a sorrow, the depth of which he couldn’t have faced. These were the terms he needed to hear. He buried his face into Aziraphale’s hair and breathed in: sunlight and sweat.

“But you will excuse me,” Aziraphale continued, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “if it takes a little time to adjust. I really didn’t mean to worry you this afternoon. I didn’t realise at all what was wrong until we- Well I just don’t know… I don’t know _how_ to be yours. I’ve always had to hold back.”

Crowley thought for a long moment. He was starting to understand what he needed. This was the first time that he had been able to be honest with himself, let alone with Aziraphale, and it would be difficult to overcome so much repression. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing, angel, just as long as I know that we’re-”

“On our own side?”

“Together,” Crowley corrected.

Aziraphale smiled. “I do like the sound of that.”

“Hmmmm.”

“I might hold your hand. In public, I mean.”

Crowley hummed happily and wrapped his arm a little tighter around the angel’s shoulders.

“And perhaps… Perhaps it would be alright to kiss sometimes?”

“That’d be alright,” Crowley replied, his practiced nonchalance returning. It was undermined by his grin.

Aziraphale leaned up and looked Crowley over. He smoothed down his autumn-leaf hair and smiled warmly, settling against his sinuous frame. “And, now that I can, I’d like to tell you every day that I love you.”

“_Every_ day?”

Aziraphale leaned down and, as the plants looked on in awe and confusion, kissed Crowley tenderly.

“Every day. Forever.”


End file.
